Because It's Funny!
by SadieMichelle
Summary: Locked up in Arkham, the Joker slowly begins questioning his sanity after his nights are interrupted by a woman who wants a seemingly simple question answered.
1. Chapter 1

**Though he is one of my favorite characters of any movie, I've never written the Joker before, so first and foremost, I want to apologize if he seems OOC. In the few stories I've read from here, I've noted most people write him as completely psychotic, violent, abusive, etc. And in some cases, he rapes the main character who by the end of the story, miraculously realizes she loves him. I don't know why, but I never envisioned him as the type of person to rape, though intimidating he may be. And although that won't be an issue in this story, it should prepare people to view him in a different light. Psychotic and a bit unhinged - yes, I agree there. But just as well, those are not the only traits that define him. Secondly, if I garner interest for this story, I can't say there will be a steady flow of chapters. Which I apologize for. School, work, and other updates will take up my time. But I'll try my best because this idea has been bothering me for a good year and I like writing for an interested audience. Lastly, as the story begins, it might be a bit confusing as you'll be introduced to characters not in the movie, most from my imagination. However, they all have their purpose, as do some of their actions. Above all else, I hope you enjoy this odd concoction.**

* * *

******Part I - A Spark **  


******6:00 P.M.**  


"You're Hugo, I take it?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you're here to do something about the electricity problems we've been having?"

"To the best of my ability."

The guard finally glanced up at the caramel-skinned man, summing him up wordlessly.

"Usually, we have teams of electricians dedicated to this kind of stuff. But with...recent events, we all know they're more useful providing power to those who need it."

"Understandable," Hugo agreed, bits of his Spanish brogue sliding in. "It is a shame the man responsible for this misery, will be able to live the rest of his life out in peace within this hospital."

"Damn straight," the guard agreed, features suddenly animated. "Doctors are too fascinated with the freak to do anything permanent with him. They wanna know how he ticks. And because of that, the city is left with no way to settle their grief."

Hugo's reply was interrupted by the unstable flickering of the lights above them, forcing both men's eyes upwards.

"So far, it's only been the lights," the guard informed after they momentarily became shrouded in darkness. "Even with brand new bulbs, they still flicker if not go out completely. Which wouldn't be a problem, but the doctors need to see the loonies they're treating. Waste of time, if you ask me."

"Not a fan of Arkham's inmates?"

The guard shrugged. "The further up you go, the less sanity you find. The ones on the ground level aren't bad. Even a floor above them, the patients who actually take their medicine, are decent - on most days. But anywhere past the third floor and you might as well put a bullet to their heads and call it a day. There's no cure for what's wrong with them."

"I take it _he_ is on the highest floor?"

"Currently being pricked and prodded by those idiots who think there's a cure to his madness."

Hugo stored this information to himself before indulging in a nice, long scan down each ward from the reception desk.

"How have the elevators been?"

"Work fine so far. Should we be worrying about them going down too?"

Each ward his eyes found, carried at least one dead rectangle of light on the ceiling.

"Gets darker further up you go," the guard input, attempting to sound helpful. "We had a maintenance guy look at the electrical grid. Power stations haven't been obstructed, transmissions lines don't appear to be messed with, and just last year, we had the transformers reinstalled so I know enough power is getting through. Just don't know if it's maybe electrical wiring gone haywire or what."

Exhaling, Hugo pulled his equipment bag over a shoulder, surveying each ward a final time.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to start at the top and work my way down. I don't think it has anything to do with the grid, though if all else fails, I'll be happy to take a look at it. I'm thinking the problem has to do more with faulty wiring."

"That's fine. But accompanying you is a regulation. Especially if you're going to be up there with the real loonies. Since it's a Sunday, a lot of the guards are off duty and the nurses will probably be gone by the time we get back down here."

"I don't plan on going near the loonies," Hugo assured, fighting down a smirk. "But with your attitude toward the them, I wonder if I'll need to be the real babysitter."

"Ha, ha," the man grumbled listlessly, though a small smile did creep in. "Follow me. I can guarantee if you get this problem sorted out before we have to call the big wigs in, you'll be compensated pretty decently."

Hugo didn't respond to the statement, knowing already that his compensation would pale in comparison to what the regular electricians made, partly because they had degrees while he had learned as an apprentice with virtually no money to his name.

But this didn't bother him in the slightest. After all, it wasn't the money he was here for.

Rather, his presence was required for one simple reason.

To create a spark.

******Part II - Spark Ignited**  


******11:45 P.M.**  


"Try again," Hugo yelled down the hallway, fingers tightening the wires as he balanced himself on the step ladder.

The guard, who'd long ago revealed his name to be Kevin, hollered back, "Your ward's still dim, but north and west has all the fluorescent lights restored."

Hugo frowned, one hand moving down to his bag. Idly, he fished through the supplies inside, cursing softly when he couldn't find what he wanted.

For a panicky moment, he wondered if he'd left it at home.

"No," he scolded himself, "I would never be so careless. Not now."

It took a few more minutes of grasping blindly into the bag before he found what he was looking for.

With a concentrated gaze, he moved the tiny object up and clasped it firmly around the thin, black plastic sheltering the wires.

Almost instantly, his entire ward brightened up like a personal ray of sunlight had blasted through the hallways.

Before Kevin could congratulate him on his accomplishment, Hugo gathered up all the equipment he'd removed from his bag, knowing some of the objects wouldn't exactly be very easy to explain.

Once this hurried task was completed, he shifted the ceiling tile back in place, effectively hiding the alteration he'd made on not just the light circuit for the floor, but the electrical signal as a whole.

"Good work!" Kevin announced from the end of the hallway, beaming as he strolled toward him.

"Great job! Great job! He's fixed the lights! Give the border-hopper a prize so he can feed his starving litter of illegal children! A delicious heart! Or boiled fingers! Yes, yes, I do like that idea! "

Hugo's head snapped toward the mocking voice, noting briefly that Kevin's face had soured.

Through a small, glass pane, he could detect skittering, indigo eyes observing him from behind a door. Which led to the patient's room. A female patient, Hugo could tell, because the face staring back at him had neatly trimmed, hazelnut eyebrows and a docile, blemish-free complexion.

"Ignore Jade. She's just trying to rile you up," Kevin mentioned, throwing a mutinous glance at the manic woman.

"I'm guessing she's not in here because she has bad manners."

Kevin grimaced, nose scrunching up.

"Ate the hearts of three family members. Caught in the middle of dissecting the fourth when Gotham police swept in, aided by an anonymous call. Place was so gruesome that the police paid the media to hush up all the brutal details. Didn't even go through a trial. Been in here for a good three years."

The eyes stayed glued to Hugo's form as he made his way down the ladder, eclipsing the previous joy in them for a ravenous hunger.

"How do doctors analyze her without getting hurt?"

"By doping her up. Her medication should start to kick in sometime after midnight. Doctors have to give a higher dose to everyone up here because they fight off the minimal requirement so well. Once the patients are doped up, they can sleep up to a good twelve hours before being escorted to therapy. Guards lead the patients everywhere. And they carry tazors with enough voltage to knock out a horse. That's enough to keep most of them in line. And if that doesn't work, then we take away their privileges."

Hugo nodded, helpless to find the entire process nothing short of fascinating.

But then he remembered his task.

"Now that I know what the problem is, I'll need to rewire the wards below us. After I'm finished, you'll have light in every room of this hospital."

"What was the problem?" Kevin wondered, folding the step ladder together.

"Interference with the wiring inside the walls."

"Huh," the guard mumbled, gesturing with his head for Hugo to follow. "How come the interference has been occurring recently?"

"Old wiring," Hugo guessed, keeping in a comfortable pace with the man. "This hospital is at least a century old, but I'm guessing it hasn't been worked on properly since the 70's. Over time, if the wires are unable to keep up with newer renovations, they'll go haywire. Either emitting too little or too much power, some of it even been known to become excess energy or static in the air. Which is dangerous because if there was a serious electrical malfunction, the building could become far more susceptible to combustion."

"Sounds like you just saved all our asses."

"Think nothing of it. But I would suggest talking to whomever currently owns or helps maintain this hospital. Next time, it might not be just the lights."

Kevin nodded vigorously, focused on easing the ladder carefully around each corner.

"You've got pretty good knowledge for just being an apprentice."

"Not everyone is privileged enough to afford college. You take the opportunities handed to you. My opportunity has taught me as much as a university would have."

"Good way to look at it," Kevin agreed. "Keep up the work you're doing and that opportunity will eventually pay off."

The next hour was nothing more than a repeat of what Hugo had done on the floor above. Kevin stood in the lobby of each floor, flickering on the lights to make sure all the fluorescent rectangles lit up. Meanwhile, Hugo expertly rewired the wires until each ward forced him to blink a few times from the luminescence.

Unlike the floor above, he didn't have to tamper with any more wires. These floors weren't his intended target.

So, with a remarkable ease, he eventually found himself at the reception desk in no more than an hour later, the hands on his watch triumphantly landing on one o'clock.

"Thanks again, man. For coming over on the short notice. Don't know how long it's gonna take the power companies and electricians to get the city fully running again. Could be months. I know by then, the outages here would drive the doctors up the wall since they have to be scribbling something down every half second."

"It's not a problem," Hugo promised, slinging the bag once more over his shoulder. "Just heed my warning about the wiring inside your walls. If you need any more assistance, your people know where to find me."

Kevin extended a hand and with a relieved smile, Hugo shook it.

"Hey," the guard suddenly added, lowering his voice, "could you...not mention what I said about Jade? Or about any of the patients, for that matter. There's those in the public, unlike you and I, who would get their panties in a fit over the treatment some patients have here. Even though that's more of a safety factor for the staff."

"I saw nothing," Hugo responded solemnly.

"Thanks."

With that, Hugo ventured to the front entrance. However, he paused upon placing his hand on the handle.

Behind him, Kevin ambled off toward the elevator. He'd mentioned earlier that a guard had to be stationed on the highest floor at all times. The rule usually called for more than one, but the hospital disregarded it on Sundays.

Closing his eyes, Hugo's thumb ran over the cool, metallic handle of the door. He ran through his thoughts again, seemingly waiting for something.

It took a good three minutes before he felt it. All of the black hairs on both arms, abruptly stood to attention as a cold breeze passed right through him.

Despite shivering at the unexpected drop in body temperature, a shaky smile managed to balance its way on his lips.

"Buena suerte, querida," he whispered, head tilted down as his breath fogged out before him.

The chill presence shifted to the left side of his body, and if Hugo stayed still enough, he could have sworn the shell of his ear was tickled back in response.

He left the asylum with a morose smile.

**Part III - ****One Week Later**

**12:39 P.M.**

"Are you going to eat that, Gustav?"

Gustav aimed a glare at the woman, fingers ever so slightly curling around his fork.

"Easy now," their table guard, Andy, warned, watching the two carefully. "Jade, get back to your food."

"Food? You call this food," she spat, glaring down at her sliced turkey. "It's dog food. And it smells dreadful. Was it that blackie serving lunch again? It always tastes foul when he serves it."

"His name's Leon," the guard corrected. "And there's nothing wrong with the food on your plate."

"Like hell," she sputtered, chucking her utensils off the table. "It has no flavor to it. No taste. Not like the fleshy part of the back right above the ass. Or the heart. You sever up the heart into cubes, throw it into a stew, add in a pinch of oregano and bam! You've got yourself a lovely meal right there. Succulent and full of protein."

"That's disgusting," Gustav grumbled, eying his own food.

"You don't know until you try it," Jade sneered back. "Just because you waste the meat on your victims, doesn't mean it can't be put to good use."

"Fuck off."

"Make me, Jewmerican."

Gustav's hazel eyes shot up, a fire burning murderously inside them.

"Say that again and I'll _feed_ your fingers to you."

The icy threat caused Andy to momentarily slide his fingers down towards the tazor nestled on his belt.

Jade smirked at this, releasing a careless shrug.

"It'd still be better than the shit they serve here."

Despite her bickering, Jade eventually began nibbling on a sliced piece of turkey, eating with her hands rather than picking up her utensils off the floor. But not without making a face with each bite.

Gustav's gaze fell back down to his own plate, fork stabbing at the corn.

"I don't know why you two sit at the same table every day if you hate each other," Andy observed, releasing his hold from the tazor.

"Gustav needs a partner," Jade answered simply, a loose string of turkey hanging from the corner of her mouth. "When we break out, we'll be a dynamic team. Gustav will kill our prey, getting off on the light leaving their eyes, and I'll make good use of their remains. Politicians are jabbering on about recycling, aren't they? I don't usually work with koshers. Mom used to say they made up the Holocaust to get sympathy. But I'll get over it when I get my treat at the end of the day."

The guard masked his disgust by humming a tune in the back of his throat, consciously not trying to think of his eight year old daughter at home.

Thankfully, before the two patients finished their meals, Andy's replacement entered through the cafeteria doors.

"The hell happened to you, Kevin?"

Strewn all over Kevin's blue uniform were smears of greens and reds, some shaped like handprints, others being nothing more than slashes. This uneven pattern ran all the way down from collar to belt, effectively staining the shirt permanently.

"That fucking clown," Kevin barked, working at wiping off the emerald pain on his hands as he stomped forward. "Dumped all his paint on me when I tried dragging him to therapy. Whatever doctor thought giving him the paints would help his mental state, is a fucking moron."

"At least he didn't stab you," Andy mentioned helpfully, unsurprised by the Joker's antics. "They still don't know if Rick will recover the use of his left eye."

This statement served to make Kevin's mood darker, but he refrained from erupting after noticing both Jade and Gustav's intent eavesdropping.

"Go on home," Kevin demanded. "Enjoy your last day before you start working night shifts for the next month."

"Gladly," Andy agreed, patting the man on the shoulder.

As his footsteps fled out the cafeteria doors, Jade lifted her head, a frown in place.

"How come I didn't hear about the clown stabbing someone?"

"Because you are a woman," Gustav pointed out, the corner of one lip twitching up. "Your only use is to clean and breed children."

"And your dick helps produce our gender. Since you'll have no further use for it, I'd gladly hang on to it. Maybe make you a nice corn dog."

"Kevin," Gustav ordered, abruptly standing from his spot, "take me away from this psychotic bitch or I'll kill her."

Sighing, Kevin gestured the two guards standing at the cafeteria entrance, over.

"Help Gustav back to his room."

"God damn, I was just joking," Jade yelled angrily, pushing herself up as Gustav relinquished his hands to the cuffs being buckled around his wrists.

"Sit down, Jade."

"You know I was joking. I fucking joke all the time with you. What's crawled up your ass?"

"JADE," Kevin repeated sternly, not even hesitating to whip out his tazor, "sit down or you're going down."

Her blue eyes swung to his own, lips pulled back in a sneer as her abnormally sharp teeth protruded forth. Streaks of what once could have been considered sleek, beautiful blonde hair, hung in messy tangles around her perfect, child-like face. She held his gaze with a feral hostility while the other guards led Gustav out, and for a split second, Kevin was sure she'd attempt to lunge at him. She hadn't overpowered her family members simply by surprise alone.

"Fi-_ne_," she eventually bit out, eyes focused on the tazor in his hand as she slowly sat down. "But I don't know why the hell he's getting so soft. He'd banter right back on any other day."

"Maybe he's tired," Kevin suggested, still not pocketing his tazor.

"Or he's more psyched up on his meds than usual," Jade assumed acidically. "I fucking hate this place. If I could just get one of these doctors alone. Not a session. Not a one-on-one exam. Just alone. In my room. Oh, I'd show them how I really feel."

Kevin ignored the threat, finally placing his weapon back.

"Eat up. You'll need the energy for today."

"What's today?" she demanded.

"You're being deferred to Dr. Scherzer. He's got some new ideas for your sessions."

Jade released a manic laugh, unnerving Kevin despite the nonchalance he displayed.

"I don't have a disorder. I simply have an alternative method of living," she explained as if he were being the unreasonable one. "It's not my fault I'm being persecuted for it."

Sighing, Kevin snatched his handcuffs from a back pocket.

"Walk forward, please."

The woman only glared at him from her spot.

Kevin, not exactly equipped with the greatest patience at the moment, reasoned, "If you do this without a fuss for once, I promise you can eat my ex-wife's heart."

Raising a brow, Jade slowly stood up.

"Hope you don't cry to the police if I actually escape," she teased, grinning as he snapped both cuffs around her wrists.

"I'm not worried," the man assured. "You won't find much of one to begin with."

He listened to Jade's mad cackles the rest of the way down the hall.

**11:12 P.M**.

Inside a room sectioned off from the other wards on the highest floor of Arkham Asylum, guarded constantly by at least one guard, sat the Joker on a freshly made mattress, playing idly with his thumbs.

His thoughts were tugging him in a hundred million directions, as they normally did, and his current silence was kept up by the pleasure he felt bubbling inside him whenever he thought about the guard he'd stabbed.

Who had made the mistake of insulting his...eccentric features.

It was ridiculously funny how none of the doctors treated him any differently after the incident. He was their little experiment to observe, pens glued to note pads, frothing at the mouth just to see what he did next. In fact, it seemed as if they had purposely thrown the pathetic excuse for a guard, in his way just so they'd see how he'd react.

A violent giggle flew from his lips.

"Probably - most _likely_ - can never play I Spy again."

After this thought, he had a difficult time containing his laughter, rocking back and forth as his bare feet slid in mirth across the mattress sheets.

"I didn't think it was _that_ funny."

The Joker froze instantly, biting down on the giggles fighting to burst through his lips. Ever so casually, he glanced around his padded room, attempting to pick out the source of the disembodied voice.

But his eyes only found the same four white walls of his ten by eight foot room peering back at him.

"Huh," he shrugged, falling back on his bed.

Despite his apparent disregard to continue searching for whoever spoke, the Joker listened intently to his surroundings. At the back of his mind, he wondered what exactly was in the new pills he'd been administered (by force) earlier in the day. If they made him hallucinatory, he'd strangle his therapist until she...uh, got...the point not to drug him again.

"Ignoring me already, _mascota_?"

This time, the Joker shot straight up, sharply whipping his head around.

He didn't know whether to be more surprised to actually find a figure leaning against the wall closest to his door, or that they'd willingly entered the same room as him without so much as a weapon for protection.

A good few seconds of puzzlement passed by before he realized his guest was female.

The Joker could feel the scars on his lips, twitch up as he indulged himself in a long scan down her body.

She was a gorgeous little number with protruding, coffee brown eyes he vaguely felt he recognized from somewhere, but couldn't name.

Probably a porno.

To make things more interesting, she wore a revealing, fuscia cotton sundress, hugging a defined bust and curvaceous hips, abruptly ending in frills just above equally curved, honey toned legs. To wear a dress that showed off so much flesh, placed her life in obvious danger.

And yet, the Joker noted a confident smile playing on her full, pink lips which told him the wardrobe choice had been very much intentional.

He didn't know why this slightly unnerved him. Then again, the doctors at the asylum had bizarre ways of attempting to reach their patients and with the vision she reflected, he wasn't exactly complaining.

He redirected his gaze to her cherry brown hair, spiraling in waves around her oblong shaped face and curling underneath her breasts.

Usually, the Joker prided himself on never becoming distracted with a woman's physical features. His goals, his plans, his fun was so much more important than a pretty face.

But he'd been inside the asylum for almost an entire three weeks, the only women around him being conservatively dressed, up-tight bitches who took great pleasure in prodding him with needles.

The woman before him was a breath of fresh air. Which made a part of him immediately channel his ever present charm, hoping to prolong this conversation as long as possible. Who knew when he'd see this poised kitty again?

_Especially_ once he got done with her.

The Joker forced himself to finally say something lest he kept eye-fucking her like some perverted schoolboy.

"Well-well-_well_, I had no idea I'd be having company," he grinned, rising to his feet.

Far, far back in his mind, he briefly wondered how it was possible for the woman to have made it into his room without so much as a peep. Because believe it or not, the Joker knew how to be stealthy without causing a ruckus.

But when she'd first spoken, he hadn't been able so much as see her. It wasn't a very large room. Not like she could have been hiding in plain sight.

And now she stood against a padded wall as if she'd been there all along?

Like all thoughts residing in this slim area of logical thought, the Joker submerged his confusion, instead, latching on to the excitement rattling his nerves.

"Oh, _mascota_, don't fret. I've been wanting to meet you for awhile now," she informed, arms crossed. "The more private the scene, the better."

He wondered if she had a death wish with her previous statement. Though, that infuriating smile never left her lips.

"I'm flattered," the Joker complimented, finally licking at both sides of his scars. "You sound like you-_uh_, have something planned?"

"You have no idea," she practically purred, pushing herself from the wall. Her eyes never once left his face and he didn't like how he felt as if she were the predator and he the prey.

"Here to listen to my problems?" he sneered, approaching her with short, calculating steps.

"As if I would willingly put myself through such torture."

Unable to help himself, the Joker released a chuckle.

"Here for-_ah_, something else?"

He wagged his eyebrows for emphasis, half tempted to grab at his crotch, but the woman only tilted her head.

"You really don't remember me, do you?"

"I'd remember a pretty face like yours," the Joker acknowledged, surprised to find himself being honest in that revelation. "So you must have me confused with another dashingly handsome man."

The woman seemed disappointed in his answer, a thoughtful look replacing her once smiling lips.

"I don't know why, but I actually feel insulted," she muttered, more to herself. "I guess as soon as you saw me, I thought you'd remember...well, I suppose it might be better this way. Besides, how could you remember me when there have been so many others?"

She then shook her head, eyes gravitating back to him.

"You look a lot more human under that war paint," she noted. "A lot more...vulnerable."

The Joker tensed up at the words, enraged with the comment, though he knew by the way others acted toward him, it was true. He didn't quite seem to rattle up the nerves he'd been able to before. And with today's incident, he was almost sure he'd never be getting his paints back again.

"You seem disappointed, doll face."

"I am," she confessed. "I've always envisioned you a monster, but to know that an actual human being has created all of the chaos you have...it is disappointing."

"I think you're looking a little too far into it," the Joker pointed out with a tilt of the head, pausing in his steps. "I'm a figure who should be looked UP to! I've not only changed things, I've built myself a reputation it takes these-_these_ slimy politicians their lifetimes to build. I've introduced anarchy into a city that's been begging for it on their knees."

"No," she disagreed, tone light but firm, "you are a disillusioned little boy whose jealousy of the good in others, causes him to act out and make this city his playground of bedlam. Underneath that mask of self-righteousness you've created, lays a conceited, angry, heartless, lonely, and spiteful boy who wouldn't know compassion even if it slapped him in the face. Look up to you? Don't delude yourself, _mascota_. You are no better than the scum beneath a shoe."

The Joker nearly abandoned all of his self control just to pounce on the bitch and break..._something_. He didn't care what. So long as he heard her delicious screams vibrate through the room.

But he stayed rooted in his spot, unwilling to let a remark elicit such a violent response. Especially if the other doctors were watching. They'd absolutely _love_ it.

"You certainly have a mouth on ya," he giggled, fingers wishing so very badly to have a knife strapped on his side. "Would you like to know how I got my scars?"

Unlike the others, she seemed to give herself a second to actually ponder over the question, finger tapping at her chin.

"Sex change gone wrong?" she casually guessed.

This time, the Joker didn't bother restraining himself.

He lunged at the woman, hands shaking with the urge to strangle the remaining light out of her sparkling eyes.

Unfortunately, he could never have foreseen what happened next.

One moment, he was inches away from tackling her against the metal door.

The next - she disappeared.

He knew this first hand when his body propelled straight into the door with a teeth-chattering **SMACK.**

HARD.

So hard in fact that his vision blurred and immediately, a trickle of blood spit itself out of a crack on the crown of his head.

Throbbing and unsteady, he tried to grab at the wall so he'd at least find balance, but his feet wouldn't cooperate, tripping over themselves as his body crumbled to the ground.

"Now that wasn't very smart," the woman teased from somewhere behind him. "But I can't say I'm not amused with the result."

Growling, the Joker pushed away the blurriness in his vision and made himself stand once more. This time, his eyes located her seated comfortably on his bed, legs crossed.

And that fucking smile bright as ever.

"You're-uh..._quick_ as a kitty cat," he mentioned, tongue soaking his scars.

She hardly batted an eyelash as he approached her with a gruesome frown.

"Figured that out, have we?" she inquired, raising a brow. "What a good little patient."

Something about the confidence in her voice, made the Joker snap. He'd known it annoyed him when she first made her presence, but now that she outwardly mocked him, he couldn't hold back on his murderous urges even if he tried.

He shot himself at her sitting body, attempting to latch a hand around her throat and snap her neck with help from the padded wall behind her.

But just as before, seconds before he reached her form, she unexpectedly disappeared.

The Joker had only a split moment to take this in before he tumbled into his empty mattress, once again diving head first into the wall. Although this one provided a cushioned blow, the intensity at which he'd hit it, caused his neck to bend unnaturally, a resounding crack echoing through the room as a result.

This time, he openly moaned, body rolling off the mattress as black spots jumped around before him. This sort of pain felt foreign because for once, he wasn't having any fun. He wasn't the one goading his prey into releasing the beast they'd tried so obligingly to keep tucked away. That sort of simple descent into anger made all that pain tolerable, if not completely enjoyable.

But this...this hurt like a bitch.

"Ouch...that did not sound good," the woman murmured apathetically. "Care to try again, _mascota_?"

The Joker was slow to rise this time around, one hand rubbing gingerly at his neck as he casted his dark gaze on the woman who lazed with a grin, against the door.

"What are you?"

Because by now, even if he was imagining it all through an elaborate drug induced hallucination, he understood that this woman wasn't normal.

"I'd rather start with introductions," she redirected. "I'm Carla."

She looked at him expectantly, but he only bared a sadistic smile at her.

"I'm content with calling you mascota," she decided after a tense second. "It suits what you are."

"What is..._that_?" he nearly growled out, too angry to realize he was groveling for the information.

"A pet."

Both fists clenched at her translation, but he remarkably stayed put.

"You can always try again," Carla suggested, observing his murderous form. "To try and hurt me, that is. I'll be all yours for the next few months or so."

The Joker fought the exhaustion entering him, wiping away the trickles of blood pouring from the crown of his forehead, only to smear it further over his skin and down his cheeks.

"I don't think you're playing fair, sweets," he complained, mustering up a smile as he began stalking forward again. "And I'm really-_uh_ hoping you're joking about being mine for the next few months. You're a bit of a...pain in the ass."

"No," Carla denied lazily, eyes reflecting a faraway gaze. "I'm dead."

The Joker forced himself to stop in place and restrain the naked surprise fighting its way through his body.

"Dead?" he repeated, thoroughly perplexed now. "What the hell are you doing dead?"

"You should know," she accused, offering him a knowing look. "You're the one that killed me."

For a disbelievingly long moment, the Joker said nothing.

"As for what I am?" she continued, unperturbed by his silence as she made her way to him. "You can call me a spirit. Ghost. Apparition. Poltergeist. Whatever helps you take this all in. Which is a bit much, I know. Who knew we actually existed outside of camp fire stories? But be assured of this. I am not a manifestation of your imagination. The medication you're on, which I'm told really packs quite the punch, did not produce me. I'm as real as the blood pouring down your face. Though-."

She was within touching distance now, but the Joker hardly dared extend a hand, unaccustomed to the bewilderment clouding his senses.

"-you will never be able to touch me," she revealed, fingers brushing straight through his cheek, before reappearing out of his lips. "Unless I want you to, of course."

When the scarred man only continued staring at her, Carla sighed, backing a step away.

"This is the part where you ask why I'm doing this," she explained, lips quirking up slightly. "Or is that such an uncustomary question for you? Usually, it's your victims that beg this out before you slaughter them for your agenda."

He wanted to retort something snarky. Something that would pull the control back into his own hands.

But that cold sensation in his cheek still clung to him, revealing that the woman before him was as her words suggested, even if none of it made any sense.

"I'd remember a pretty face...even if I did kill her," the Joker muttered, his dark eyes reflecting the black violence in his soul as he tried to regain some sort of control over the situation.

Carla's smile turned somber.

"Think harder, _mascota_. Your sanity depends on it."

It only took mere seconds for the enlightenment to strike his features, though it was a difficult thing to detect if one wasn't searching his expressions as carefully as Carla was.

"And there it is," she softly remarked, taking in the stare of clarity aimed her way.

The Joker, on the other hand, was finally able to place her familiar eyes on an actual face. One that he reluctantly found himself recalling almost perfectly because it'd been one of the only times in his life he'd ever actually stopped what he was doing just to watch the life leaving a person's eyes.

Normally, he was always in too much of a rush to indulge in such a sentimental practice. Places to blow up, people to intimidate. That sorta fun.

But for some reason or other, as the blares of sirens had sounded from miles away on that overcast Monday afternoon, his men rushing like a stampede through the broken glass toward their vans - they'd been inept amateurs at best and he'd killed every last one of them upon returning back to his hideout, the Joker had paused and turned, unable to stop himself from watching the woman succumb to every human's most primal fear.

He would have never connected the dying woman from that day to the one standing proudly before him.

For one, her facial expressions on the floor, while in their own right fascinating, reflected nearly ever other persons who knew death was but a breath away. There had been nothing particularly defiant or vengeful in her expression, showing a willingness to fight her fate.

Just a brutal acceptance, sheltered in a tear-stained face.

Furthermore, she'd worn a gray, modest turtleneck and khaki pants, hair pulled back in a tight bun, never allowing someone to determine how truly lengthy and beautiful it could be. Hardly the image of the sultry thing standing before him.

But one look into the woman's eyes (and the Joker angrily found himself doing nothing but look) told him they were one in the same.

"Hate to tell ya, sweets, but it was an honest mistake," he shrugged, hoping to discredit her memory. "Gun went off and shot the wrong person. Nothing personal, got it?"

"No, the gun went off and you shot _a_ person. In your hands, _mascota_. Rearrange it however you will, but at least be a man and take the responsibility for your action," she reprimanded, all amusement vacant from her features.

"Watch the words that leave those _pretty_ lips of yours," he snarled, jaw clenching up.

"I'm dead, asshole. What are you going to do?" she challenged, throwing him a glare for his stupidity.

"I'll bl-," but he was at a loss of a threat for once in his life, and this realization forced a feeling faintly resembling panic, to sprout up inside his beating heart.

"Blow me?" she suggested, an edge of her lip curving up. "Actually, I am part of the atmosphere around you. Perhaps you can try blowing me away like one does a...dandelion."

She very much meant for the sexual innuendo to burst forth, and equipped with the tantalizing flesh he reluctantly found himself soaking in every other minute or so, the Joker dimly wished he never had a dick to begin with.

"Nothing to say? Well, that's a relief actually. It will allow us to continue with our story. Before you fled from the bank, you probably recall our eyes finding each others," she reminded, throwing him a purposeful smile. "Actually, I _know_ you remember because my dying wish was to guarantee you would. And what God would be merciless enough to not grant a dying woman her wish? I was on the floor, bleeding to death because you sort of shot me in the fucking chest, and you, hand on the door, watched me like you'd never seen a dead body before. Then, you fled and I died."

She made it all sound so deceptively innocent, but the Joker could read the malice caught in her voice.

In detecting this, he felt a little bit of confidence return to him. At least now, he could play upon the weakness of her blind anger.

"Does the dead bitch want an apology?" he mocked, taking a step toward her.

The cold grin she graced him with nearly made all that confidence vanish.

"When Batman beat the shit out of you, he knocked out your intelligence too, didn't he?"

The Joker shot out a hand without thinking, intent on backhanding her across the face.

This time, she didn't disappear.

But his hand did, sinking through her face like a car through mist.

He stared in stupefied wonder as it appeared from her opposite cheek, prickling coldly, before glancing up at the woman, attempting to mask his deep unease.

"You want to try attacking me again?" she offered. "I quite like the battered wife look on you."

His hand clenched into a stiff fist, nails digging viciously into his skin. The throbbing bombarding his head was a clear reminder of what would happen should he attempt to attack her, and this only further served to blacken his mood.

Not only that, but the patience and calculative intellect he'd prided himself on having, prided himself because he was one of the only people in the entire city who could see what so many others could not, seemed to have abandoned him entirely in the wake of discovering his predicament and the woman before him who for once, he wasn't able to scare or intimidate.

He'd never pegged himself as a religious man. Nor one who dedicated any thought to the existence of an afterlife. He'd worry about death when he died. That'd been his mantra and he'd been satisfied with it because it allowed him to never fear death. If he had, so much of what he'd done in his life would never have been accomplished.

And yet, he now felt an uncomfortable lack in knowledge regarding what was happening. He wondered if she wasn't just an image formed out of some sort of guilt or pity his subconscious repressed.

However, he disregarded this thought immediately.

The Joker didn't feel guilt. Plain and simple.

Yes, he might have wished some events had turned out differently. The ferry incident being one of those. He'd put forth a _lot_ of effort in securing those wires and creating the detonator. It'd been one of his most exciting projects to date.

But otherwise, he was as likely to feel sorry for killing someone as he was to donate money to a charity for privileged brats.

What option did that leave him with, then?

Because if he did accept what she told him, that she was some sort of pissed off spirit intent on haunting him for who knew how long, then he'd also have to accept what he'd always hated admitting to when he'd been younger.

Being powerless.

His threats, quite literally, went right through her. And the greatest threat he could hold over someone's head was to kill them.

Unfortunately, his mission had kind of been accomplished already, though strangely enough, he couldn't even remember why he'd shot her at the bank in the first place.

"Sure you're dead, sweets, and the doctors aren't trying to fuck with my mind?" the Joker demanded aloud, eyes piercing her own, watching for any hint of a lie.

"Your mind is pretty fucked up to begin with," she pointed out. "The doctors don't need to help you with that."

Again, he moved to strike, but fought his hand down, loathingly remembering there was nothing he could do.

Carla only kept on smiling, enjoying his attempt at restraint.

"Since pride permits you from asking, I'll be merciful and tell you why I'm here. And I'll let you know right off the bat, I'm not here to haunt you. There's a peaceful afterlife waiting for me and once I'm done here, I'll be more than glad to embrace it," she explained, letting the door support her weight as she slumped back. "Besides my mission to drive you into true insanity, something I'm told is worse than death itself, I've decided I want an explanation for why you killed me. And I know that sounds ridiculously easy to answer, but rest assured, if I'm not satisfied with the explanation, you will never sleep again a day in your life."

"I am a nocturnal man," the Joker deflected, unimpressed with her statement. "Losing sleep is _hardly_ torture."

"I was really hoping you'd say that," she grinned, cocking her head to the side. "With just a stroll through this hospital, I've learned that the body's brain and nervous system begins to deteriorate after five nights of insomnia. Think the drugs will help? You won't even be able to remember your own name, much less function without drooling considering how often I could keep you up for. And even if you get your rest in, I'll still be here, ready to pester you as I'm doing now. It's a small room and you won't exactly be leaving it very often. I'll be the reason you're starving each day and shaking each night. The drugs, this asylum, these imbecilic doctors will have _nothing_ on the insanity I plan on drowning you in. You might be stubborn, but I have eternity, _mascota_. Eternity with the man who murdered me. You honestly think I'm not going to make it count?"

As she released her threat, the Joker gradually found himself paling. It wasn't by any means intentional, but this woman he could not hit, could not strike, couldn't so much as touch, made almost all the blood retreat from his face.

"Hate to...ah, stomp on your fun, sweets, but I've already been clinically labeled insane," he announced, eying her carefully as his tongue licked at his scars.

"That's the peculiar thing," she mused, searching him curiously, "upon meeting you, I've realized you're not. Which I should get brownie points for. Keeping my mind open in your presence. But no, I don't think you're insane, at least not like some of the others here. You're actually quite smart. Unfortunately, like a lot of smart men throughout history, you've lost the ability to feel empathy or compassion for others. My only guess is you weren't treated with any growing up, so why return the favor? Normally, that would make my heart ache for you, but it's not exactly in any position to beat. So I'm not exactly in any position to care about who you used to be. Just what you are now, _mascota._"

The Joker would be lying if he didn't say her admission didn't come without a few surprises. The primary one being that she actually found him intelligent as opposed to insane. Less than a handful of people were able to determine that about him, and they were all long gone. How she'd been able to figure it out within the span of a half hour, even he couldn't figure out.

"The drugs should kick in in about thirty minutes," Carla revealed suddenly, pushing herself off the door. "In the meantime, I'm going to give you some time to think about what I said. If you give me the truth next time I pop in, I might actually reconsider my promise. Otherwise, you can consider this karma, if you are a religious man. Which I doubt because your disbelief in what I am is as evident to smell as the grease in your hair. Try to have a _pleasant_ sleep, though. I can't stress enough how much you're going to need it."

And before the Joker could so much as think to open his mouth, Carla vanished.

* * *

**From here on out, except for special cases, the story will be in Carla's POV. I just don't feel like I do enough justice writing from the Joker's POV and this way, you can learn a bit more about Carla who is a special case altogether. Also, get used to the Joker being helpless. I mean there's not much he can do anyway to affirm his strength or control of the situation. Which is what makes their meetings unique. She has the power and he knows there's nothing he can do. Something I think is a nice change from when he's beating the crap out of women for not listening to him. In a way, you can consider this karma because while I love Ledger's Joker, I'm not blind to the amount of people he killed - and how easily he killed them, throughout the movie. Hope your interest was at least piqued. Let me know your thoughts in a review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Whether there's an audience out there or not, I want to thank you regardless for the favorite and story alerts. And the one reviewer. I'm not quite sure what this is, but I trust my instincts to write it. So, on it goes. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 1**

**12:18 A.M.**

"How'd it go?"

Carla's fingers tapdanced over the padded wall, squashing it every so often just to test the durability.

"It went...better than I expected."

"And yet you sound unsure."

Her serene smile quickly morphed into a grimace, and shortly after, her fingers dropped to her lap.

"You're far more perceptive when they don't medicate you," she observed.

"Which is why I'm doped so much. They hate it when I speak my mind. I once even made a therapist cry! After that, they decided to up my dosage."

"Really?" Carla turned, studying the man thoughtfully. "I can't imagine what you could have said. You're bold, not rude."

The man shifted uncomfortably on his mattress, head balanced in a tilt against the wall. "I kept threatening to kill her children."

"That's morbid," she frowned. "But they've got to be used to those kind of threats. This is an asylum. Patients here are meant to test everything you know about yourself."

"Normally, they are," he agreed. "But lucky me, I get the therapist who's witnessed the death of both her children."

"Did you feel guilty after seeing her cry?"

"I'm indifferent to the blubbering and sobbing. Actually, it made me more physically sick than anything."

Carla didn't finish her line of thinking which suggested that because of his apathy, killing his victims had been easier.

Right now, she couldn't afford to think in this mind set. And she knew he'd lose all respect for her if she did.

"How's your new therapist?" she asked instead.

The man seemed relieved with the topic change, body relaxing back into the mattress.

"Better than any other ones I've had. His name's Dr. Scherzer. German, go figure. But he said if I work on dissecting what makes me sympathize for people, he could possibly move me down a floor. Which is a relief I can't even put into words. No longer would I have to put up with Jade or the other maniacs on this floor who I know only make me worse than I already am. I know I can't afford to live out the rest of my life in a padded cell, 24/7. The floor change...it'll help me retain some of my sanity."

A somber silence hung in the air after this statement, but Carla fought back the compassion brewing inside her for the man. Which was difficult to do. She liked seeing the change from who he'd entered the hospital as or at least who he was when she'd met him, to the man he was now. From cold, empty and opposed to any forms of emotion to lukewarm, talkative, and accepting of his mistakes.

But one reminder of the numerous gaps he'd left in family albums all over the city, and that compassion simmered before it could become a roaring flame.

"The floor below is better," she offered helpfully. "You get a regular room slightly larger than this one with a trip to the library once a week. The drugs won't make you as loopy because they decrease the dosage, and you won't have to walk around everywhere in chains. There's more interaction with the other patients. Group therapy, from what I saw."

"That sounds...incredible. I'll be working my ass off for that."

"So you've discovered what makes you sympathize for people?" she inquired.

"Yes," he remarked confidently, though there was a fixed surprise on his face. As if he never expected himself to be at the mercy of such an emotion.

"I'm happy for you, Gustav," Carla expressed, throwing him a genuine smile. "That's a great milestone for you."

In the past half hour, her lips had almost ached in the amount of forced smiling she'd done. Or smiles that were so cold she nearly felt the frost bite tingling her lips.

But Gustav, the first patient to have seen her translucent form upon her arrival at the asylum (and the first she'd found contentment from by interacting), had a remarkable ability to elicit true smiles from her. As if he knew how to control the muscles around her lips.

"Aren't you going to ask me what it is?"

Blinking, she shrugged. "Only if you want me to."

He pushed himself up, hazel eyes finding her own through the dim room. Ever so leisurely, he grinned.

"You."

"Me?" Carla repeated, confused.

"I sympathize for you," he explained matter of factly, both arms coming to circle around his knees. "I don't know why your death is so different. Getting shot in a bank. That's hardly a sob story to sell to the media. And the murders I committed were so much worse. But somehow...none of theirs affected me the way yours does."

"Maybe because you're coming to know me?" she suggested, ignoring his building excitement.

"No," he disagreed harshly, brow set in a thoughtful line. "I knew my victims and even their pleading got nothing from me. Imagine it. Men and women, begging for me to spare their lives just so they can go and watch little Johnny grow up or be there to walk eager Sally down the aisle. God, it's all textbook emotions that should sway a killer to reconsider what they're doing. But it only egged me on. And yet, you're different for a reason altogether. Although I don't know what that reason is, I do know that I get this...ache of sadness in my chest whenever I think about how innocently you died. How innocent of a person you were. More innocent than any person I've ever killed. And something about that..._gets me_."

Carla didn't respond, not a particular fan of thinking about herself right before she died. She'd been a naïve idiot then. So unassuming of her surroundings. Worse than that, she'd known the Joker had a particular fetish for striking banks. Really, all of the warning signs were there.

But she also remembered why she left her house in the first place. Gotham City had been plagued by fear of the unknown, that unknown being the Joker. Life long citizens were too afraid to let children out of their sights or attend groups they'd been members of for years.

That sort of fear sickened Carla. More to the point, the man who unleashed it sickened her. And by leaving her house, she was fighting against the fear gripping the city. No skinny man in a clown suit was going to prevent her from living her life.

Unfortunately, irony can have a wicked sense of humor. And on that day, it decided to royally screw her over.

"I don't think you're weak, if that's what you're worried about."

Knocked out of her musing, Carla offered Gustav a slow smile. Pain hid itself beneath the corner of her lips, but Gustav had a difficult time detecting when another person was in pain. There wasn't much of a chance he'd pick up on it.

"I died knowing what I stood for. That I wouldn't let fear prevent me from leaving my house. From living. Even if you thought me weak, I'd know you were wrong."

He nodded at this, though his gaze still appeared calculating. As if he could detect she had more to say.

Which Carla did. But those thoughts were hardly ones she wanted to engage in a topic with. Even the dead had a code of silence.

Eventually, Gustav got the point, lowering his eyes.

"How'd the clown take your sudden entrance?"

She'd been debating with herself on how much to tell about her encounter with the Joker. Gustav of course knew why she was spending a margin of her afterlife at Arkham, but he'd also been adamant in warning her about a direct confrontation. He'd warned that the Joker had a talent for getting into your head and where once you thought you were in control, by the end, the control reverses the opposite way.

"Shock and anger, mostly. He looks like hell," she revealed happily. "Tried to attack me three different times. Two of those successfully made him bleed."

The man's eyebrows shot up, obviously impressed with the news.

"Did he try getting in your head?"

"Absolutely. He's like an animal. Searching for that weakness in you before capitalizing on it. But there's not much you can do to hurt a dead girl. I have so much control over him that I don't know what to do with it all."

"Are you going to physically hurt him?"

"Only if he deserves it," she reasoned. "Honestly, I think I'll have a lot more progress if I screw with him psychologically. Of course he'll know what I'm trying to do, but considering he's practically at my disposal whenever I want, he'll have no way to fend me off. No way to threaten me. And as much as I loathe him, I do understand an opportunity when it's presented. His life will be hell here."

Gustav kept his eyes locked on her, mouth opening and closing a few times.

"What is it?" she noticed.

"I hope you don't take offense by my asking-."

"-let me hear it. You're not my target, honey. He is."

Exhaling, Gustav made his way to a standing position, eyes never once leaving hers.

"Are you actually...looking for an answer as to why he killed you? Or is this all just in the sake of revenge?"

It embarrassed Carla to realize the answer wasn't as clear as she thought it'd be. Or that while initially promising herself she'd approach the Joker with indifference, already, a part of her felt it was an obligation to make him suffer.

Originally, her only intention was to figure out why it'd been her. Why he found the need to end her life prematurely when she hadn't reacted to him in that bank. She understood that he wasn't exactly a friend to sanity, but something intentional had thrived behind his mad gaze as he watched her die. Something knowing and cognitive.

But upon actually taking the Joker in, studying his carefree mannerisms, his disregard for the lives of others, his infuriating belief that Gotham City needed him...well, something inside her had reformed in priority.

Yes, she still desired to know why he'd killed her. A restful afterlife would never be reached if the answer remained lost. Ultimately, this would be what allowed her to finally move on.

However, a miniscule part honestly sought to inflict as much pain as possible upon the Joker throughout their time together. And it would be a _long_ time. He would never want to admit to why he actually decided to kill her. Perhaps if enough pain overwhelmed him, then he'd at least feel remorse. Which was a laughable goal to invest in when she thought back to who she was dealing with.

Then again, he was human. Beneath the make up and the parlor tricks and the manic laughter, the Joker was flesh and bone. Something his bleeding could personally attest to.

She may not succeed in making him feel remorse, but he would certainly remember the people he'd murdered. And whether it'd been justifiable or not, though she guessed a majority of them to be the latter, she guaranteed his confidence in who he was and what he stood for, would in one way or another, rot.

"I do want to know why he killed me," Carla assured, a bit nervous regarding how deep her hate for the Joker was actually rooted.

Which was a dangerous thing to broadcast. If he ever found out that she still retained anger toward him even after death (where some sort of peace was supposed to be reached) then he'd never answer her question truthfully, bent on exploiting her weaknesses.

"But?"

"No buts," she confirmed. "After he gives me an answer...and it's the complete and honest to God truth, then I'll move on. I'm not vengeful enough to keep myself here longer than I need to."

"But you are vengeful?"

Closing her eyes, Carla rested her head against the wall, suddenly wondering how she'd allowed her emotions to so easily become displayed. If Gustav could pick up on them this easily, she shuddered to think how quickly the Joker could.

"Does he have a real name?" she questioned. "I mean something besides the Joker. Which is an oxymoron in itself. Psychotic he may be, but he's dead serious underneath the threats. He believes in what he does. Though, I suppose I can continue calling him mascota."

"Mascota?"

"Pet," she translated.

"I doubt he's a fan of that."

"Acts enough of one to deserve the name."

Helpless to suppress a grin, Gustav forced back a yawn as he studied the gorgeous woman with an open mouth.

"Don't forget he's a man," he explained, his own eyes drinking in the exposed flesh. "If the mind is not disciplined, then the body will surely give in to what the eyes see."

"I haven't forgotten. Though, I hope it never comes to that. I want to approach him as a lady, not a slut."

"You're not a slut, Carla. But," he added, "you are sexy."

If Carla could have blushed in her post-mortem state, she was sure her cheeks would contain a blasphemous hue of red.

Which told her it was time to depart. Any longer in Gustav's presence and she'd feel that nagging compassion again.

However, his compliment managed to sprout another one of those easy smiles.

"What does it say if it took me being dead before I was finally called sexy?"

Gustav chuckled, eyes crinkling in humor.

"Means there were a lot of blind men around you."

"Sadly, I probably preferred it that way. I wasn't much of a relationship girl or socialite when I was alive," she reflected, smile slowly dissolving. "It really doesn't hit you until you're dead at how boring of a life you've lived. Granted, I've always wanted it to be exciting. I just thought I'd have time to live it after the college loans were paid off and I moved out of my dad's house. You maintain that excuse until...the last breath leaves your lips. And then, there's this nanosecond of lucid thought in which all the regret just pours in, and the realization that dying young is the only mark you've made on the world. That..._that's_ when death becomes painful."

The man studied her cautiously, not allowing his own emotions to rush forward. Even though the unique ache inside that she alone made him feel, returned full force.

"Ah, but you don't need to hear these unnecessary words, my friend," she suddenly quipped, the corner of her lips jerking up. "You need your rest and I need mine. One can't be cranky when they face a clown. Who knows what'll happen."

Finding himself nodding, even though he felt as if more needed to be said, Gustav lowered himself back on the mattress. He always hated to see Carla leave. When surrounded by the madness on his floor, Carla served as a stabilizer for his moods. A reminder that some people didn't deserve to die.

But he also understood why she needed the solitary space. If he had made it a goal to face the Joker every night, he'd need the alone time to collect himself too. Even if he was dead.

"Keep me informed on your progress," he mentioned, hoping he didn't sound too desperate in the request as his eyes found the familiar ceiling above.

A few silent seconds passed by before Gustav realized Carla had vanished.

And he briefly wondered, with that ever present ache in his heart, how painful it must be for her to watch day-by day, people like himself continue to live a life they didn't deserve, while she existed in only the air they breathed in.

* * *

**Filter chapter? Eh...more of a getting to know Carla chapter. Though, I hope to really form her character through her chats with the Joker. Whom she sees right through. Sort of. Let me know your thoughts in a review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**It's been awhile, but I got a fantastic review for the last chapter by Truga and it just makes me kind of jump for joy. Thank you very much for reviewing and I take what you say to heart. You sound like you are a passionate reader and I hope to fulfill that goal not only with this piece, but all of the other ones you've reviewed. Again, thank you. Onwards we go! Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 2**

**5:55 P.M.**

"How's my _mascota_ doing today?"

Carla hid a smile when the Joker attempted not to appear startled, though the uncomfortable stiffening of his back indicated otherwise.

"Nothing to say?" she continued, studying his unmoving form facing the wall. "I'm almost disappointed. Either the drugs are working or I've properly submitted you."

The man continued his silence, though she observed his shoulders rising slightly.

"Come on," she pestered playfully, "you're no fun when you're trying to keep your anger in."

She could practically see through the thin fabric of his white t-shirt, the muscles beneath his skin, stretch in rebellion against the patience she knew he wanted to maintain.

"Shame," she finally sighed. "Guess the doctors here actually know what they're doing. You're neutered."

The Joker sprang off his mattress like an erratic jack-in-the-box, snapping his head in her direction.

"Oh my God," Carla chuckled, absorbing the malicious bruising around his face, "you look like shit."

"Get the fuck out," he growled menacingly, tongue involuntarily licking at his scars.

"You really don't comprehend this being dead thing, do you? You don't give me commands, _mascota_. I'm beyond rules, beyond limit, beyond reason, beyond nature. I am infinite and you, my little psychopath, are nothing but a vulnerable mass of aging flesh. The most intelligent action you can take is accepting this before you continue to make a bigger fool of yourself."

The Joker gritted his teeth so tightly it looked like his molars would grind into white dust. But he refused to submit, at least temporarily, to the furious beast roaring inside him.

"Or you can continue to entertain me with your antics," she decided, eying him happily. "I've always wanted to know what a black and blue clown looked like."

He glared at her with nothing short of acidic hate, and had Carla been equipped with a living body, she was sure her skin would have eroded in response.

"Have you got an answer for me?" she reminded.

"About..._what_?" he forced himself to ask, though his fury never lessened.

"Why you killed me."

She didn't expect an actual answer, and because of this, the Joker surprised her.

"It was fun, sweets. A real blast," he sneered, uneven grin in place as he slowly straightened his posture. "You, like so many citizens of Gotham, were..._uh_...disposable. And I'd been forced to keep a reputation in those times. Had to kill someone, ya know? Else the police and Batty would have thought I'd gotten sof-_t_."

He then cackled loudly after this admission, falling back into the cushioned wall behind him, arms stretched over his stomach.

Vaguely, Carla wondered how an individual could bounce so rapidly between rationality and crazed delirium. It was almost inhuman. Practically insane.

Then again, she had discovered upon their first meeting that he maintained a certain level of sanity despite wanting people to believe otherwise. A deceiving and cleverly articulated mask he'd sported.

But when it came to moments like these - his deep, chilling laughter shooting off the walls like claps of lighting from a cloud - it became increasingly difficult to remember that the Joker indeed didn't suffer from some mental disability.

"Are we done?" Carla questioned boredly, watching the scarred man slump against the wall with a goofy grin on his face.

"I can't help myself sometimes," the Joker admitted with a shrug, yellowed teeth showing. "I'm _uh_...a real comedian."

"If that's your brand of comedy, then I feel inclined to inform you that you suck"

"You wound me, sweets."

"If only that were true," Carla sighed hopefully.

"Oh...we're feeling feisty today," he observed, lips smacking together a few times as his eyes once again glued themselves to her legs.

"You're already a terrible comedian. No need to add terrible interpreter to that list."

"I'll have you know that I've been told I'm quite _**the** _ladies man."

Carla couldn't hold back her snort this time around, amazed and frightened at how easily he'd been able to make her laugh.

"Don't laugh," he mocked, feigning a hurt expression, bottom lip puffing out in a pout.

"Sorry," she apologized, holding up a hand. "But I have to ask...did these women reveal their feelings through braille by any chance?"

The Joker hooted, one hand smacking backwards against the cushioned wall.

"Ha_ha_ha...what's the _point_ of a relationship if the woman can't even see the gorgeous specimen before her?"

Arching a brow, Carla tilted her head, choosing her next words carefully.

"Disregarding the fact that you just used 'relationship' and 'woman' in the same sentence, I can honestly say that I have a few things in mind which could be rather pleasurable if one partner was deprived of vision."

Mimicking her raised eyebrow, the Joker pushed himself off the wall, taking his sweet time as he approached, eyes still refusing to meet her own as they wandered over curves and flesh.

"Can I tell ya a secret, sweets?"

"I'd prefer you didn't."

"Too bad," he ignored, slowing in his steps as he reached the distance of only an arm length away. "I knew from the moment you appeared in my room that you _uh_...wanted me."

"Is that so?" Carla smirked, allowing herself to step forward, very much aware only a few increasingly tense inches separated them.

"Everyone wants to get a little..._freaky_ now and then."

If she didn't know the Joker as well as she did, Carla would almost have felt those words to be sincere.

However, those feelings hardened and snapped before they could even reach the neurons in her brain.

"Hmm," she practically purred, voice lowering as one thigh parted itself from the other, fuscia dress rising ever so slightly. "Sounds..._messy_."

In seconds, the Joker had plowed through her personal body space, both arms shooting out on each side of her head, fingers practically clawing into the soft walls while his face obstructed all view of the wall behind him.

Carla mentally applauded the control she maintained at not forcing herself to vanish away. Plainly put, it would have been cowardly and exactly what he expected.

Instead, she allowed herself to study his features up close, through bruises and all.

"It's the scars, isn't it?" he lowly chuckled after a moment, eyes refusing to detach from her lips.

"No," she denied, surprising herself at the honesty.

The Joker must have detected something amiss in her tone as well because in an instance, his expression shifted from malicious amusement to etched hate.

"Don't get grumpy on me," Carla complained, the corner of one lip twitching up as his scowl deepened. "Your scars really don't bother me. They are a part of you. Like a birthmark. Really, I'm more intrigued by the depth in your eyes. Considering I believe there is only a black hole resting where your heart is, I'm actually shocked to find that there's actually something...hum-."

She disappeared the moment he moved his hand to strike her, allowing herself to be absorbed into the electrical energy in the air, once solid body retaining nothing more than a molecular and atomical form.

He yelled, he kicked, he even punched the area directly where her head had been, but all to no avail.

"Ouch," Carla noted, safely positioned near the Joker's mattress in one piece again. "Not a fan of discussing who we are beneath the scars, are we?"

"I almost had you," he seethed, spinning around to find her.

"Meh," she shrugged, "I'd like to say I had a good 4.297 seconds on you. But whatever will help you sleep at night. Speaking of sleep...I think I'll visit you again later in the evening. Your attitude is starting to get childish and I prefer dealing with adults."

"You're leaving?"

Oddly enough, she couldn't detect what emotion asked the question.

"Until you calm down," Carla reasoned. "Which should be fun. I heard through the grape vine that you actually took your medicine today. Which makes me wonder what a mellow you is like."

"I did _NOT_ take any medication," the Joker defended angrily, the corner of one lip briefly flying up. "Even, _uh_...bit the doc who tried to feed it to me."

"Wow," she marveled, feeling her face light up in mirth, "you really don't know, do you?"

Instantly, his scars flicked downwards in annoyance.

"Know..._what_?"

"They slipped three times the recommended amount of Xanax into your orange juice!"

Carla couldn't help but feel the slight twinge of sadness, as opposed to the expected jubilation, when she watched the shock flicker over the Joker's face. It was remarkably clear he didn't know they'd spiked his drink with the intense mood stabilizer. And that sort of devious treatment...bothered her.

Then again, he was a threat to anyone who tried to help him. Perhaps there were certain liberties that could be overlooked.

Even when she repeated this a few times to herself, Carla knew she wasn't entirely convinced of this reasoning.

"I'm going to _kill_ them."

And she believed very much in the threat he spat out, his entire body tensing.

"No," she disagreed helpfully, "first, you're going to become numb. Then, you're going to go into a state of cocooned psychosis. After that...well, I honestly can't wait to find out! Maybe you'll have more to reveal when your brain isn't so disagreeable with your mouth. Have fun!"

"You-."

She vanished before hearing another complaint, thoughts now wandering to what his mental and physical state would be like later in the night. A moody Joker she could easily envision, but a calm one?

Yes, she definitely didn't want to miss seeing him tonight.

* * *

**It's just a cat and mouse game between them. But make no mistake, the Joker is the mouse, even if he refuses to see it. And of course Carla can't feel pure hate toward him, even if she wants to. Let me know your thoughts in a review!**


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